


Dead Ringer

by Dog_Bearing_Gifts



Series: Sheepdogs [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Episode s01e07: The Day That Was, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, PTSD, People being nice to Klaus, Vets being wholesome, Vets recognizing Klaus, What Klaus found in the laundromat, how Klaus learned knitting might help, or his picture anyway, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dog_Bearing_Gifts/pseuds/Dog_Bearing_Gifts
Summary: Klaus' search for Luther leads him to a laundromat. The man he meets has seen him before.





	Dead Ringer

Richard had just transferred his whites from washer to dryer when a dead man stepped into the laundromat. 

There was no proof the man had died, of course, no evidence one way or the other, but when considering the fate of a soldier who’d gone missing from the A Shau Valley at the height of the Vietnam War and who hadn’t been heard from in fifty years, death was a safe assumption. It was the conjecture he and others had worked from when trying to find the man’s draft card, his records, his name, and it was the presupposition that had spurred Richard in that search. That soldier had a name, and whatever family was left deserved to hear it, even if the speaker delivered no more news than what they’d already assumed. But his likeness was all that remained, and that likeness had been burned into Richard’s memory from countless minutes poring over that photograph. 

Now here he was, dragging himself into the laundromat. 

Richard knew he ought to go back to his laundry, look away and give the kid space to do whatever he’d come for and head back out unimpeded, but he stood dumbly with hand on the dryer door, watching the kid shuffle from the entrance toward the wall of washers. A sheen of sweat clung to his face and bare arms. With no idea of where he lived and no plans to ask, Richard couldn’t say how long he’d been out in the evening chill; but it didn’t take much to guess he’d been out there too long. Even if he’d left with a jacket and lost it somewhere along the way, he was exposed now and he’d remain exposed for as long as he stayed out. 

“He’s not here.” The kid muttered it to no one but himself, but when he turned for the door, Richard spoke up. 

“Who’s not here?” 

The kid had looked about to take another step, but he halted and turned instead. That face—dear God, it was the same. The exact same face he’d stared at and wondered over and spent years trying to name stared back at him. Richard wished he had the photo in front of him just to scour it for any differences, anything that might prove he wasn’t seeing what his mind screamed he saw. This kid was fifty years too young to be the one in the picture, twenty years too young to be his son, but Richard would be damned if he wasn’t a dead ringer for the soldier himself. 

“My brother.” The words came out in a monotone, as if inflection was too much effort. “Need to find him.” 

Richard knew he ought to ask about the brother. Get as detailed a description as this kid would offer, determine his last known whereabouts, offer to call the police if circumstances called for it. A part of him, a part he ignored, longed to ask if he knew this kid from somewhere, try and tease more information about the photo out of him. But all he could see in that moment was the bare arms and sweat, the disheveled curls and drawn expression, the way he hunched slightly as if standing upright cost more energy than he could afford.  

“No offense,” Richard said, “but it looks like you need to head back home and rest.” 

The kid cut his eyes briefly to one side. For an instant, Richard thought an irritated look crossed his face, an expression that said _I told you so_. “Yeah. But he was drunk when he ran off, so you know. Can’t let him get too far.” 

The sigh in those words was audible, and Richard couldn’t have blamed him for it if he’d wanted to. The words themselves told him he ought to let the kid go on his way, head out to find this brother before his drunkenness led him to disaster. 

“How long have you been looking?” 

The kid shrugged, and a name sprang to mind. Klaus. Jim had mentioned it when noting his resemblance to the unknown soldier—though that was far from the only detail he’d recalled.  _“Didn’t get to ask where he served, but it must’ve been bad….”_

“Why don’t you sit down here a minute,” Richard said, nodding to the row of molded plastic chairs bolted to a wall, “and give yourself a chance to regroup?” 

Klaus hesitated. His hands still gripped his arms, though not as desperately; it appeared the warmth of the laundromat had countered the lingering outdoor chill. He didn’t meet Richard’s gaze. 

“Look, if you’re gonna be out in the cold without a coat, you need to be smart about it. Figure out where to go next and how long it’ll take to get there. You’ll have a hard time helping this brother of yours if you collapse before you find him.” 

He paused a minute longer before a wan smile tugged at his mouth. “You sound like somebody’s dad.” 

Somebody’s dad. Not _his_ dad. Just somebody’s. 

“Sit your ass down, son.” 

He made a small show of dragging himself to the chairs, but he sat his ass down and rested his head against the window. Richard watched him a moment, went to the vending machine and cast another glance over his shoulder. Klaus made no move to stand, let alone leave, so Richard fed some money into the machine, retrieved a bottle of water, and joined Klaus at the window. Klaus watched as Richard pushed his knitting onto an adjacent chair and sat. 

“She gonna be mad?” 

“Is who gonna be mad?” 

Klaus nodded to the beginnings of a purple sweater for Richard’s granddaughter, the feet of a neon pink T. Rex barely completed. “That old lady when she sees you moved her shit. Touched some granny’s yarn on the bus once.” He shook his head, as if to ward off the memory. “Sometimes, I can still hear her screeching at me. _You insolent hoodlum! I should tie you up with that yarn and hang you from the window!_ ” 

Richard laughed. “I think we’re safe. I’m the only one knitting here.” 

“You knit?” 

Richard untwisted the cap from the bottle and handed it over, unable to help a wry smile. “You surprised?” 

“No. I mean—yeah. Kinda.” He took a swig. “Just always thought old women named Agnes had a monopoly on it, you know? Cool that you rescued that yarn from their Knitting Mafia.” 

He chuckled. “We did have an Agnes who joined us for a while. Sweet woman. Kept getting frustrated, never got the hang of it. Still sends us free donuts, though.” 

Klaus stared at the sweater, and Richard tried to name what he saw on his face, aside from the weariness and disorientation that had followed him in. Curiosity, yes, but a bit of something else. Longing, maybe, but the sweeter sort rather than the bitter one. 

“There’s a few of us who meet,” Richard went on. “You’d mostly be around other vets, but anybody’s welcome.” 

Klaus nodded. He left no opening for Richard to ask where he’d served, but there was no confused denial on his part, either. It seemed Jim’s guess had been spot-on. 

From where Richard sat, he could spy the pulse in the younger man’s neck, hammering away quickly—too quickly. The laundromat was always slightly above a comfortable temperature, but Klaus had been covered in sweat from the moment he walked in. He looked like death warmed over, as one of Richard’s friends might say, and here he was out on the streets alone. 

“So your brother. He just got drunk and ran off?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“On foot?” 

“Yeah.” 

A call to the police would be useless, then. Not that a drunk man roaming the streets on foot wasn’t a danger to himself, but he wouldn’t be as much a danger to others as a drunk man behind the wheel. _Wait a few hours, and if he doesn’t come back on his own, we’ll send somebody out to look_ , was what the dispatcher would say. 

“Where have you looked so far?” 

“Couple clubs. Some bars.” 

His suffering could belong to something else—a nasty flu, maybe, or a bout of food poisoning that should have sent him to the hospital. But if it didn’t, if the sinking sensation in Richard’s stomach was indeed the sickening recognition of an old foe, then Klaus had approached temptation more than once and walked away. 

And he intended to skirt ever closer to that chasm until his brother was found. 

“You want me to help you look?” 

“You’ve got laundry.” 

“It can wait.” 

Klaus’ gaze traveled from him to the dryers and back again, settling into incredulity. 

Richard cracked a smile. “If someone decides they can’t live without my tighty-whities, I can buy more.” 

That seemed to prompt a moment’s thought, but it ended with Klaus shaking his head. “No, he…I can’t pounce on him with a total stranger.” 

He had a point, loathe as Richard was to admit it. There was no telling what state this brother would be in when he was found. Best to have him found by family. “Is there anyone else he knows? Any other siblings? I could call.” 

“Yeah, but they’re all out trying to stop the end of the world, so….” He sighed, briefly straightened. “Looks like it’s down to me.” 

Richard’s smile remained. It was hard not to like someone with such a casual flair for the dramatic. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big guy. Blond hair, clean shaven.” 

“Heavyset, then.” 

“No, just big. Tall. Big shoulders. Tiny little head.” 

“Sounds like he’d be hard to miss,” Richard said slowly, dismissing the possibility that he’d spotted this brother and didn’t know who he might be. “What’s his name?” 

“Luther.” 

This couldn’t be Klaus Hargreeves. He and Jim had discussed it at length when the coincidence of a young man named Klaus having a brother named Diego surfaced, but if _the_ Klaus Hargreeves had joined the military, the media would have latched onto that story like leeches and bled it dry. A brother named Diego, another named Luther….well, Luther and Klaus weren’t the most common names, but Richard knew of at least a few young mothers who had chosen one or both for their children at the height of the Umbrella Academy’s fame. 

“I’ll keep an eye out, try and get him to stay here if I find him.” 

“Thanks.” 

Klaus stood, and Richard had the urge to cast about for some excuse to keep him there. Something, no matter how small, no matter how ridiculous, that would keep him from entering the lair of a monster that still had its claws sunk deep. Tell him he’d seen that brother of his somewhere safe, that he knew someone who had. The lie would crumble the second it passed his lips, but at least he’d have tried. 

Richard got to his feet, fished a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled his number. “If you don’t find him soon, call me.” 

“You sure? It’s getting kinda late.” 

“I’m out here doing laundry on a Wednesday night. You really think I’ve got anything better to do?” 

That raised another small smile, and Klaus pocketed the number. 

“Call if you run into any trouble, all right? Anything goes wrong, you just need a hand, give me a call.” 

“Thanks.” 

It wasn’t a promise, or even an agreement, but he had a number. That was something. “Be careful out there.” 

Klaus nodded, paused, dipped his head, and shuffled back toward the door. It might not be right to let him go off alone, but it was the only thing to do, all Richard _could_ do. Let him make his choice and hope it had a halfway decent ending. 

“Hey.” 

Klaus turned, hand on the door. 

“We’ll meet tomorrow at seven. Me and the others. Downtown library, small conference room on the second floor.” 

“I don’t even know how to knit.” 

“Neither did I.” 

Klaus smiled again. Like his other smiles, it wasn’t quite happy, but it was far from despairing. Weary and small, but a little hopeful and still there. It remained in place as he opened the door, following him out with the chime of the bell. 


End file.
